Page 18 of One Wrong Move

“So, ah… I’ve been thinking,” he says. “She needs time to cool off. To come to her senses and get over this whole rebellious idea of hers. I figure I’ll give it a month or two and then I’ll fly over there. See if I can make her see reason once she had a few weeks to consider her actions.”

“Dean, I’m not sure?—”

“It’ll work. It has to work,” he says. “But I need another favor, man. Can you keep an eye on her? Make sure she’s not getting into trouble?”

In the distance, Harper’s hands are moving animatedly as she describes something. I see the lady in red smile.

“Mm-hmm. Sure.”

“Thanks, man. That’s all I need, to know she’s doing okay.”

“Right. Look, what really happened between you two?” I ask. I know I shouldn’t, but the question slips out, disappearing into my phone, and off across the Atlantic.

“Fuck if I know. One day everything was fine, and the next, it’s over. Her explanations made no fucking sense, and I?—”

“I have to go,” I cut in, spotting Harper’s excited smile and frantic wave, calling me over.

“Nate?”

I’m already walking her way. “Talk to you later, Dean.”

I hang up and slide the phone into my pocket. My insides churn, a bitter taste sitting on my tongue. A feeling I am familiar with. Lived with for years.

Guilt.

Guilt for wanting my best friend’s girlfriend.

Guilt for accepting dinner invitations that I should have declined.

Guilt for looking Dean in the eye and telling him that they make a great couple.

And now… Keep an eye on her.

That’s never been a problem.

Keeping my eyes off Harper was always the issue.

Harper

I’m on cloud nine when we leave the museum.

“Did you see the man in the striped navy suit? In the far corner?” I ask Nate as we walk out of London Modern. “He’s one of the world’s largest art buyers. Renowned in the business. Renowned.”

“He should have put that on his name card,” Nate says, “so I would have known.”

“And the way they’d arranged the art in the South Gallery… I know we weren’t supposed to take pictures but I did it anyway.”

“I saw. What a rebel.”

I elbow him again. I feel like I’m floating. It’s the excitement and champagne and the glittering view of London. Across the river, the St. Paul’s Cathedral is lit up, towering over the surrounding buildings. “You mock, but I just had the best night in… I can’t even remember how long.”

“You know, I think you should change that,” Nate says. His voice is easy. Comfortable to listen to. I’ve always liked talking to him. “New city, new opportunities… you could have plenty of best nights.”

“I think I should. At least try to, you know? Do you have any more exclusive art events to go to?”

Nate runs a hand along his jaw. “Well…” he says.

I shake my head. “No, don’t worry about it. I know this was a one-off. And I greatly appreciate it, too. Also, I promise not to impose on you while I’m in London.”

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